


Love is More than Just a Game for Two

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine moves into the Bushwick loft - into Kurt's room, Kurt's bed, and all of the roommates’ days and nights - it's hard for Rachel.  She doesn’t expect it to be, at least no more than it was to fit Santana into the already cramped apartment, but it is.</p><p>Bushwick futurefic, set during Rachel’s sophomore year of NYADA (summer 2013-2014), spoilers assumed through but not past 5x07 (“Puppet Master”)</p><p>warnings for past canonical character death</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is More than Just a Game for Two

**Author's Note:**

> I daydream quite a bit about the Bushwick loft. I got to thinking about what Kurt and Blaine look like to their friends and how it might change things for the group’s dynamic if Blaine moves into the loft. I think there are a lot of interesting things to say about that, actually, but that’s not this fic, because something else struck me even harder.
> 
> This fic is about Rachel and how having Blaine there and Kurt and Blaine in love right in front of her every day might make her feel.
> 
> It’s in Rachel’s POV. It’s all about Klaine with tons of domestic-y goodness, but it’s also about Rachel and Finn. It’s about death and loss. It’s about trying to move forward when you keep being reminded of the past when you least expect it. I could have written a fic twice as long and barely scratched the surface of this topic, but this is the story that wanted to come out.
> 
> the title comes from the Nat King Cole song “L-O-V-E”
> 
> [There is a podfic version available.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2536925)

When Blaine moves into the Bushwick loft - into Kurt's room, Kurt's bed, and all of the roommates’ days and nights - it's hard for Rachel. She doesn’t expect it to be, at least no more than it was to fit Santana into the already cramped apartment, but it is.

It’s not that she doesn't like Blaine. Of course she likes Blaine. She loves him. She _adores_ him, in fact. Ever since their ill-fated whirlwind romance a few years earlier, she's always felt like they possessed the true connection of similar souls who love and understand what it means to come alive in the same sort of spotlight. She appreciates his talent and manners, his style and focus, his seemingly endless energy, and of course the way his lovely voice blends with her own.

No, the problem isn't really him at all. As a roommate he is tidy and respectful, quite a counterpoint to Santana. As a friend he is caring, supportive, and kind. As a duet partner he is always warmed up and ready to accompany her on the piano in their living room. There's very little for her to object to, even when his evening shower can interfere with her preferred post-rehearsal candlelit soak time.

The problem isn't even that Kurt and Blaine are a couple, because she loves them both and is so happy for them that sometimes it feels like her heart could burst with it.

The problem is just that, as she watches them start to weave their lives together full of love and joy, her heart feels like it could burst for other, much less happy reasons, too.

*

Rachel shuffles out of her bedroom on a Saturday morning soon after Blaine moves in, following her nose.

“What _is_ that?” she asks, her stomach rumbling at the delicious smells.

“Blaine’s making his special cinnamon pancakes,” Kurt says with just a touch of smug satisfaction like he’s won some sort of competition or has somehow been proven right. He’s perched in his casual pajamas on one of the chairs at the table, an open magazine in front of him but his attention on his fiancé at the stove. He looks as pleased with himself as she has ever seen him, and that includes the time he was allowed to raid the Vogue vaults for five new pairs of shoes.

“They smell amazing,” she says.

Blaine smiles over at her and flips the pancake on the griddle. He’s also in pajamas, as impeccably neat as his clothes always are, with his hair a happy mess on the top of his head. “There’s plenty for everyone,” he says. “Coffee?”

Rachel nods and sits beside Kurt as Blaine fixes her a mug just the way she likes it - and she has no idea how he’s figured that out already - and places it on the table in front of her.

“Want a refill?” Blaine asks Kurt, smiling at him with a warmth in his eyes that makes Rachel a little embarrassed to see it, not because there’s anything wrong with it but because it seems like a private intimacy she shouldn’t be sharing.

She’s going to have to get used to it, she realizes. Kurt and Blaine live together now. They live with her. She’s going to see it all.

“I can get it,” Kurt says. “You have pancakes to flip.” He pushes back from his seat, mug in hand, before Blaine can argue with him.

Blaine’s smile grows even more, and he brushes casually past Kurt, a hand on his back, as he goes back to his pancakes.

“Is that pancake supposed to look like that?” Kurt asks after he refills his mug, his shoulder pressed against Blaine’s as he leans over toward the griddle.

“Yes,” Blaine replies simply.

Rachel watches as Kurt wrinkles his nose and takes a sip from his mug. “It’s lumpy.”

“That one’s yours,” Blaine tells him.

“You’re giving me a lumpy pancake? It looks like the elephant man.”

Blaine just laughs and says, “It’s a heart.” He leans into Kurt’s shoulder. “I’ll get better at it.”

Kurt bites his lip as his smile blooms to life again, easy and open in a way Rachel knows all too well he’d lost for a while after Blaine was gone... and after Finn, too. “Oh,” he says in delight he’s barely trying to hide. “Well, it still needs work. I expect you to practice a lot.”

“Every Saturday,” Blaine promises, his eyes shining with joy.

Rachel takes a sip of her coffee and looks away, out of the window into the early morning city light. She loves how happiness looks on her friends. She just doesn’t feel the same way. She can’t. She doesn’t quite know how anymore.

*

“What about a movie? They’re doing a creature double feature at the Odeum,” Sam says, sprawled out on the floor pillows on the far side of the pizza-box-strewn coffee table.

“Nobody cares about creature double features but you,” Santana tells him.

“I like them,” Blaine says from beyond Kurt on the other side of the couch.

“Nobody but Blaine, and you’re both out-voted,” Santana says. She reaches for another slice of pizza.

“It would be nice if we could do something we would all enjoy,” Rachel says. Like karaoke. She’s in the mood to sing - not that she ever doesn’t want to, not that they don’t have a piano a few feet away - and a stage with actual spotlights and a half-dozen excellent duet partners sounds perfect. She’s sure she could get Kurt on board; it’s been forever since they’ve sung something together. At least three or four days.

“I heard they’re doing Irish music tonight at the bar down the street,” Dani says. She pulls out her phone. “Let me see what the hours are for that.”

“Irish music? Like U2?” Sam asks, sitting up in interest.

“Yes, Sam,” Santana says archly. “Exactly like U2.” She takes another bite of pizza.

“Irish music with _fiddles_ ,” Artie explains to Sam. “And step-dancing, which is totally out for me, because that’s all legs and no arms.” He holds his arms down at his sides and bounces a little in his chair. “Not exactly my strong suit.”

“Aw,” Dani says, dropping her phone in her lap and reaching over to pat his shoulder. “No Irish music, then.”

“We should go dancing,” Blaine says, soft enough that the suggestion makes Rachel look over at him in curiosity, because it isn’t his usual peppy tone of voice. Also, wasn’t he paying attention to Artie? They should all pick an activity that he can do... like karaoke.

Her frustration with Blaine for not taking Artie into account dies in her throat, though, because it’s immediately clear that the reason he sounds weird is that he’s talking just to Kurt, his head tipped toward his fiancé’s.

“We should,” Kurt replies quietly, a pleased lilt in his voice. “Not step-dancing, though.”

“No,” Blaine agrees. “Maybe a club? A gay club? Somewhere we can dance all night and nobody will care. I love dancing with you.”

“Think you can keep up with me? I’m professionally trained now, you know.”

There’s no bite at all to the teasing, and Blaine grins back at him. “Oh, I think I’m up for the challenge.”

Kurt’s warm laugh is intimate and agreeable, just for Blaine. “Mmm. We should do that. I’ll ask Elliott. He’ll know the right place.”

“Anywhere is better than Scandals,” Blaine says.

“We’re in New York,” Kurt reminds him, rubbing his palm over Blaine’s thigh. “Let’s aim higher than just ‘better than Scandals’.”

“Anywhere you want.” Blaine takes Kurt’s hand in his, holding it on top of his leg with a careful touch, like he’s precious, and Rachel focuses back on the general conversation around her, oddly unsettled.

She knows they’re engaged. She knows Kurt’s going to be focused on doing things with Blaine more than with the rest of them now. She knows that there has to be a draw to going to a gay club together when their options were so limited in Lima.

Still, it stings a little to be excluded from her best friend’s plans.

She loves clubs, after all. She loves getting dressed up and dancing.

She loves rooms full of pretty, happy gay men who tell her she’s beautiful and dance with her but won’t try to go home with her and turn out to be a gigolo or worse... or even just someone who will never measure up against the person who isn’t there to dance with her at all anymore.

Blaine slides his fingers between Kurt’s and says softly, “Wherever we go, I’m sure I’ll like it if I get to be there with you.”

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand in reply, and Rachel smiles a little, melancholy for herself but pleased for them. She remembers so very vividly what it feels like to have someone who wants to make plans to go out somewhere special with her, just because it’s _her_. She loves that feeling. She loves being adored. She misses it.

She lifts her chin and pushes that thought away.

She also misses going dancing.

Just because she’s on her own doesn’t mean she has to be alone. That’s ridiculous. So she can’t double-date with them because she’s single; it doesn’t mean that she shouldn’t be able to enjoy herself with her friends.

And just because they’re engaged doesn’t mean that they can ignore everyone else. That’s even more ridiculous.

Clearly the only solution is to convince them to take her with them.

*

Rachel comes back from pouring table six their third round of coffee - and seriously, could they please order some food so her tip might be more than a dollar? - and finds Kurt where she left him, leaning across the diner’s counter toward Blaine as they work on the crossword in that morning’s paper. Kurt’s also theoretically working, although he only has one table, too; at least he has Blaine hanging around to keep him company.

“I hate the mid-afternoon lull,” she says, putting the coffee pot back in its stand. “It’s too quiet. And the customers are usually so fussy.”

“Persnickety,” Kurt says.

She turns to look at him. “Doesn’t that mean the same thing?”

“Twelve down.” Kurt taps the paper with his finger, seemingly barely aware of her. “Persnickety.”

Blaine fills in the boxes neatly with his pen, twisting a little on his revolving stool as he does. He looks up at Kurt with bright eyes when he’s finished. “That’s it! Thank you.”

Kurt turns the crossword toward himself and hums with satisfaction. “Those SAT prep classes paid off, apparently. My dad will be so proud.”

“Halfway done,” Blaine says, smiling down at the paper in front of him as Kurt does the same. “We’re a good team.”

“Of course we are.” Kurt meets his eyes for a short moment in what looks like complete agreement before he takes a sip out of Blaine’s glass of ice water, stands up tall, and adjusts his apron. “And now I should go check on my one table of tourists before Gunther yells at me about not being attentive enough to people who clearly just want to sit there until the rain lets up.”

Blaine reaches out and catches Kurt’s hand before he can leave. “You’ll come right back?” As he speaks, his thumb rubs back and forth over the band on Kurt’s finger in a gentle caress.

He doesn’t even seem to be aware of the tiny gesture, but Rachel’s breath catches. She is suddenly transported back to Finn and his silly habit of adjusting her engagement ring so that the diamond was in the exact center of her finger.

She can feel the touch of his slightly rough fingertips on her hand. She can see the proud smile on his face. She can feel how happy and in love they both were, how excited they were to have each other forever.

Rachel clasps her hands together and breathes through the memory of Finn offering that ring to her in a proposal that was not even close to being as elaborate as theirs but was still just as magical at the end of the day because it was _Finn_ wanting _her_ , as simple as that.

He did want her. He did love her. And for a while, she wore his ring on her finger as proof.

She misses him so _much_ in that moment it’s like a part of her has been taken away.

“I’ll be back before you figure out the next clue,” Kurt promises Blaine with an easy, flirty grin, and Rachel spins away to make more coffee or refill the sugar canisters or _something_ , because there’s work that needs to be done, and that’s a better use of her time than standing here remembering something she gave up on her own long ago but still feels like was stolen from her somehow.

*

“I can’t believe she didn’t give Chase a rose,” Rachel says, turning off the TV with an angry flick of the remote. “He was _so_ the right one for her. Now who is she going to pick? Blake the cowboy? Ryan the ‘sales guru’?” She makes air-quotes, because seriously, who calls himself that? She does _not_ understand why people are proud of business and sales jobs.

“Don’t forget Harry the sous-chef who made her vegetable soup for their date,” Kurt says. He sounds as disdainful as Rachel feels. “I don’t care if you call it gazpacho and add a dollop of creme-fraiche; it’s still vegetable soup. I can’t believe she was impressed by that.”

“She deserves what she gets.” Rachel turns in her spot in the corner of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “And he had the best hair, too.” She sighs a little, because Chase really was very attractive, and she’d been hoping for a few more shirtless shots of him before the end of the season.

She doesn’t share that part, though, because now that she can see across Kurt she can see that Blaine isn’t just being quiet but is actually _asleep_ , his eyes closed and his head cradled on Kurt’s shoulder. His hand is relaxed where it’s tucked in the bend of Kurt’s elbow. His mouth is parted, his breathing easy and slow. He looks peaceful. He looks happy.

“Oh,” she says softly.

“It’s okay,” Kurt tells her in a normal voice. “He was up late with work. He’d probably sleep through a marching band right now.”

Rachel shakes her head. It’s not that she minds bothering Blaine so much, really, because sleeping in a shared space with so many people in the apartment means it’s a given you’re going to get disturbed, but her stomach is twisting to look at him. She knows just how comfortable Kurt’s shoulders are; she’s curled into him countless times on the couch over the year they’ve lived together and even before. She knows how it feels to cry on them, to fall asleep on them. She knows how comforting they can be, a safe port in the stormy world around them.

If she’s being honest, she misses Kurt being hers in that way, her partner in New York. She’s willing to cede that spot back to Blaine as Kurt’s fiancé, but she’s never been good at having to sit there and look at things she can’t have.

Although, Kurt does have _two_ shoulders...

Seeing how contented Blaine seems, she finds herself remembering Finn’s shoulders, too, so broad and big compared to her head, so perfect to snuggle into. She remembers how safe it felt to be able to relax against him after a long day. She remembers how it felt to have _him_ there for her, her partner in _all_ things.

Rachel takes a slow breath and stands up. That’s gone now. This is what’s real: her friends, her friendships, and everything they all mean to each other in different ways, day in and day out. This is what matters. That and her career, of course.

The rest is just a memory.

“Do you want some help getting him to bed?” she asks, folding up the throw she’d had over her lap and draping it over the arm of the couch. Blaine may not be tall, but she’s learned that he can be surprisingly unwieldy and uncoordinated when he’s not quite awake.

Kurt shakes his head, looks around the only partly lit room, and says with a fond quirk of a smile, “We’re okay here for now.” He puts his feet up on the coffee table and rests his hand on top of Blaine’s on his arm.

Rachel remembers that, too, the way being with Finn made her feel like she didn’t need to be anywhere else.

“Okay,” she says and leans down to give him a kiss on the forehead before she leaves them alone, or as much alone as the apartment allows.

She feels a little empty and off-balance as she walks into her room. Sometimes she’s really tired of remembering, she thinks sadly as she gathers what she needs for a bath before bed. It’s hard to think about what’s gone.

Her only consolation is that forgetting would be worse.

*

“I mean, I like that we’re different,” Kurt says across the table from her at their favorite little coffee shop near NYADA. “Sometimes it’s really useful. Like sides of the bed. We didn’t have to fight about that at all, because we each like a different side. And I guess it’s not weird that we like different toothpastes, even though using the same one would make post-toothbrushing kisses clash less. His cinnamon and my mint do _not_ go together well.”

“Have you tried not kissing?” Rachel suggests, mostly teasing, and Kurt rolls his eyes in reply.

“And I can deal with the fact that he rolls his socks instead of folding them, even though it means he’ll _never_ be doing my laundry,” Kurt continues. “They’re his clothes. If he wants the elastic to get stretched out, that’s his problem.”

Rachel takes a sip of her tea. “And he doesn’t really like socks anyway.”

Kurt makes a little sound of agreement and says, “Maybe he’d like them more if they weren’t all stretched out.”

“Maybe.”

“We’re making compromises,” Kurt says. “He doesn’t like the sun waking him up, so we put in those room-darkening curtains. We got a heavier duvet, because he likes the weight of blankets on top of him. We have skim _and_ two-percent milk in the fridge now.”

“And soy milk,” Rachel reminds him, not that anyone ever buys it but her. She’s pretty sure Santana uses it when no one is around to see, but she never buys it.

Kurt nods and fiddles with the lid of his cup, his expression growing cloudy. “And soy milk,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s paying much attention to the words. Instead, he looks distracted. He looks worried. He looks upset.

“What’s wrong?” she asks him, because it’s suddenly clear something is, that this isn’t just their usual chatting and complaining about loft life.

He lets go of his cup and admits in a soft voice, “I don’t know.”

Her heart starts to race in alarm. “What’s going on?” she asks him, reaching out to touch his wrist. “Kurt, are you having second thoughts about Blaine? About... being with him?”

Kurt’s head jerks up. “No!” he says immediately, firm and certain, and it’s a relief for her to hear it; she doesn’t want any of them going through them breaking up again, and she’s so certain that they’re meant to be together. “No. Definitely not.”

“Then what?”

It takes a long moment before Kurt answers; he looks into the distance like he’s trying to gather his thoughts or his words. “We’re just... different,” he finally says. “I knew that. I’ve always known that. I love him for who he is. But when we have to figure out how he can read at night with the light on when I like it dark or when he thinks we keep the loft’s thermostat too cold - “

“I am _not_ changing the temperature,” Rachel interrupts, because this is _important_. “It is perfectly set for the health of my voice. Do I need a note from my doctor? Or my director? I will get a note.”

“No,” Kurt tells her. “We’re not changing the temperature. Don’t worry.” He lets out a slow breath and looks at his cup before meeting her eyes again. “I just wonder sometimes if it’s normal that we do so many things differently. Living together has brought up a lot of issues I didn’t know we’d have. And even if the toothpaste isn’t a _problem_ , I wonder if it _means_ something. I love him, but... sometimes the differences make me wonder.” His voice goes even quieter. “I don’t want to wonder.”

“You and I had issues, too,” Rachel says. “There was a lot to work out. Like the temperature. Or shower schedules. Or my perfectly reasonable need to sing scales when I wake up.” His mouth twists into a judgmental smirk, and she hurries on so that they don’t get too off-track. “My point is that we still bicker about something at least once a week, and it doesn’t mean anything bad.”

“Yes, but I’m not marrying you,” Kurt says pointedly. “I always knew you’d be a high maintenance roommate.”

Rachel tosses her hair back behind her shoulder and says, “I prefer to be thought of as passionate and discerning.”

Kurt’s eyes crinkle in fond amusement, and he says dryly, “I know you do.”

Rachel resists the urge to ‘accidentally’ kick his shin as she re-crosses her legs under the table. He has come to her needing help. She can be the bigger person for a moment.

The problem is that she doesn’t really know how to answer him. Her dads work really well together, but they’ve been a couple for decades. It’s hardly the same thing.

She has no experience, herself, either; she’s never had the opportunity to live with someone she loved so much. She doesn’t know what’s normal for a couple when they live together. She’s never done this before. Brody didn’t count, really, when it was a relationship built on lies, and she’d never had the opportunity to live with Finn. She doesn’t know how much two people in love should have in common from the start. 

She doesn’t know if Finn would have snored so much she’d have needed stronger earplugs. She doesn’t know if he’d have left his clothes around the loft the same way he did in his room and how quickly she would have been angry about it. She doesn’t know if he’d have lived off of grilled cheese and soda or if he’d have started to learn to cook dinners with her the way Blaine and Kurt did together the night before. She doesn’t know if he’d have brought her flowers on a random Tuesday just because he saw them and thought of her.

She doesn’t know. She’ll never know.

She’s never, ever going to know what it would have been like to live with Finn.

It’s like a hole in her heart, all that she’ll never have with him, and it makes her look at Kurt’s problem in a whole different light.

“Kurt,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, because she wants him to hear her words and not the tears threatening to rise up, “I think you’re worrying too much.”

Kurt looks up at her, real concern in his eyes. “I thought it would be easy. I thought we’d just... fit.”

She reaches out to hold his hand again, firm and sure and full of love for her friend, because he has something wonderful, whether it requires work or not. “I know, but you’re figuring it out. That’s a good thing. And you’re in love. Just... be in love,” she says.

She knows now that’s what’s important, not the little things, not the details, not the little problems that crop up; they all can be sorted out one way or another if you care enough. That big thing - love - is what is important. And he has it. He should treasure it.

He takes a deep breath and nods, the clouds starting to clear from his eyes.

Somehow she summons up a smile around the longing in her heart and squeezes his fingers with her own. “Be in love, Kurt. The rest will work itself out.”

*

“Oh, thank god, you’re finally here,” Rachel says as the door to the loft slides open and Blaine stumbles inside. Okay, he may be stumbling because Rachel has hooked her hand into the sleeve of his hoodie and is dragging him bodily across the threshold, but as far as she’s concerned it’s his own problem that he can’t retain his balance. He’s supposed to be a dancer, after all.

“I’m sorry. There was a problem on the subway, and we were stuck in the dark for twenty - “ he begins, his bag falling from his shoulder to catch in the crook of his elbow.

“No time,” she says. “We need to leave in five minutes, and you can’t wear _that_ to the show.”

Blaine looks down at himself and the well-fitted but far-too-casual workout clothes he’s wearing. “I know,” he says, “but I had dance class.”

“Less talking, more changing,” Santana says from the bathroom where she’s putting the finishing touches on her makeup. At least Rachel hopes they’re the finishing touches. If she misses the first song because her friends can’t stop primping, she’s going to be _furious_. “Or wear that, I don’t care.”

Rachel pushes Blaine toward his room. “ _I_ care,” she says. “I went to a lot of trouble to get us these tickets, and you are _not_ wearing those pants, no matter how nicely they set off certain parts of your body.” She wants the director to pay attention to _her_ first and foremost, after all; she’s sure the show will be great, but the main attraction for her is being able to go backstage afterwards and make a good impression. _Funny Girl_ won’t run forever. She needs to keep making connections. She needs to be surrounded by young, fashionable, and fabulous people so that the director is impressed by her hangers-on.

“Thank you?” Blaine says, tripping a bit over his feet as she keeps him moving. “And I’m not arguing with you. I’m going to change.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Santana calls over her shoulder and fusses a little with the half-dozen thin straps of her slinky green dress, studying her reflection in the mirror. “Nobody’s going to be looking at him with how hot some of the rest of us are.”

Laughing, Dani says from the couch, “Santana!”

“No, that’s true,” Elliott says amiably, gesturing to his shimmering black jacket, and Rachel has to admit that they both look fantastic, but she still isn’t going to allow Blaine to be a weak link tonight.

Santana beams over at Elliott. “I knew I liked you.”

He grins back, and Rachel pushes at Blaine’s shoulders a little harder.

“Blaine!” Kurt says, coming out of their room with a smile lighting his face at the sight of his fiancé. He’s wearing a gorgeous houndstooth suit with a pale grey shirt that more than meets Rachel’s needs for the occasion.

“No time,” Rachel snaps at him. “Blaine has to get dressed.”

Kurt’s eyes go wide, which she sincerely hopes is because he understands the seriousness of this situation, and he says to Blaine, “Do you need my help picking out some options? I could pull together a few looks while you clean up.”

Blaine pulls away from Rachel’s hands and spins around to face them. “I’ve been getting myself dressed for at least fifteen years now. I am fairly certain I can do this on my own,” he says firmly but politely. “But thank you.” He yanks the privacy curtain shut.

Rachel turns to Kurt, feeling the seconds ticking away around them. “Are you ready? Please tell me you’re ready.”

“Well, my hair - “ His hand flutters up toward it.

She grabs his wrist and says, “No. It’s fine.”

“But if we have a minute while Blaine - “ he starts.

“No,” she says and pulls him toward the door. “I want everyone lined up and waiting for him. Get your phones, bags, wallets, whatever.” She grabs her sparkly new clutch from the kitchen table and gestures to her friends scattered around the loft. “I have the tickets. Everyone gather over here so we can go.”

Of course, nobody listens to her. Sam does amble over, but everybody else keeps doing whatever they want. Kurt and Santana bicker over access to the mirror, and Artie even takes out his phone and starts texting with someone.

It’s ridiculous. This is her life. This is her _future_. Why are they all so unconcerned?

Rachel has worked up a good head of steam by the time Blaine hurries out of his room looking handsome in a blazer, sweater vest, and bow tie. “Finally,” she snaps. “Time to go!”

Nobody jumps to attention. Well, no one but Blaine, who is patting his pockets but walking over to her.

“We’re leaving!” she says a little more loudly, clapping her hands together, and that seems to do it. Her friends move in slow motion toward the door while she tries not to lose her temper entirely.

“Here we go,” she says, standing by the door and shooing them out one by one. “Sam, Artie, Elliott, Santana - “

“Oh, I forgot my purse,” Santana says, ducking back inside.

Rachel grits her teeth and begins to count silently to herself. This is a big night. She doesn’t need to ruin it by getting all splotchy from anger; besides, they’ll only take longer to go if they’re fighting. She needs to rise above and be the star that she is so that she can wow everyone they will meet. _Focus, Rachel,_ she tells herself. _Focus on what is important. Yourself. Your future. Friends in the business. Success. Fame. A lifetime of accolades that will surely happen when you get into the best shows because you’ve put in the work making the right impression now._

When she exales, she is feeling serene again, and she even smiles at Dani as she walks past her into the hallway. Santana comes next, trying to jam her phone into her tiny bag, with Kurt and Blaine bringing up the rear.

“How was your day?” she hears Blaine ask Kurt quietly, putting a hand on Kurt’s back as they draw near.

“ _Very_ long, but okay,” Kurt replies, his head bent toward Blaine. “You got _stuck_ in the subway?”

Rachel takes a half-step back so that they can pass side-by-side.

“Yeah,” Blaine says with a humorless laugh. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“I’ve got some of that chocolate with salted caramel you like if you need some comfort food to help you through it,” Kurt says.

Blaine laughs again, a little more happily. “I might. Thank you. You’re the best.”

As she slides the door shut, she sees Kurt’s smile in profile and the way his eyes look straight into Blaine’s for a moment before they pull apart and head off with their friends.

Their quiet little conversation makes her think of how Finn - once she trained him properly - used to check in with her every time he saw her. It wasn’t anything big, just him wanting to hear about her day and making sure she was happy and well. It had been a special moment of connection between them. Even after they broke up, he kept doing it, kept looking right into her and caring about her, every single time.

Blaine reaches out for Kurt’s hand as they walk down the hallway, their gazes glancing off of each other and their fingers catching so easily, and Rachel feels a pang of jealousy and nostalgia she can’t quite contain.

Not that her friends don’t love her, but it’s not the same as that kind of one-on-one, specific kind of attention... or that light in Finn’s face that always made her feel like the most special person in the world.

*

Padding to her room on bare feet in the dimly lit apartment, her face freshly scrubbed and her hair pulled back in a ponytail for the night, Rachel hears a soft, husky moan from behind the curtain closing off Kurt and Blaine’s bedroom. It cuts off abruptly, and as her face flushes hot she holds her breath and stops so as not to alert them that she’s there.

Santana might enjoy calling everyone out on what she overhears - and sometimes records - but Rachel prefers to let them all hide behind the lie that there’s any privacy at all in this overcrowded apartment. They’re all adults, after all. There’s no need to mention things they do behind closed doors and curtains. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about and thus nothing to talk about unless it’s breaking one of the apartment rules on respect or cleanliness.

She takes a slow, silent step forward.

There’s a low murmur of voices from behind the curtain, whispered hushes quickly turning to warm laughter, and then the bedsprings begin to squeak again, the rhythm audible through the fabric. It speeds up and deepens, the sound absolutely unmistakable.

Rachel flees into her room and tries to close her own curtain as quietly as possible before she can hear either of them moan again.

She doesn’t quite make it, but at least, she thinks with some mortification as she covers her mouth and hurries to the far side of her bed, Kurt sounds happy.

“Oh my god,” she whispers to herself, half in horror and half with laughter she can’t quite keep from bubbling up. There are things she never really thought about when she decided to move in with her friends, and knowing the way they sound while making love is one of them. She wishes she could somehow make herself forget it instead of having it burned into her brain.

Rachel turns up her white noise machine a little louder and desperately hopes she won’t hear anything more.

Her own bed is cold when she shrugs out of her robe and slips under the covers. Cold and large, empty, and only hers.

Normally she doesn’t mind her solitude all that much, because her space is important to her, but tonight she lies there in the dark and stares up at the ceiling, too aware that she’s all alone with her best friends wrapped up in wonderful, joy-filled love only a few feet away.

Seconds tick by, then minutes, and she feels restless instead of relaxed. She can’t get comfortable, she’s jumping at every noise that filters through the walls from outside, and she’s trying so hard not to overhear anything from _their_ bed that all she can think about is what exactly she doesn’t have in hers.

“Stop it,” she tells herself. What Kurt and Blaine do is none of her business, and there’s no reason she should compare her life to theirs. She’s doing just fine, even if she doesn’t have someone to sleep with right now.

Taking a series of deep, centering breaths, she thinks about pulling out the boyfriend pillow Kurt gave her, just so she can curl up with something, can have something to hold.

She doesn’t get up and get it, though, instead rolling onto her side and shutting her eyes.

She knows the pillow won’t give her heart anything it truly needs. It won’t stroke her hair. It won’t smile into her eyes. It won’t treat her as though she’s precious and amazing.

It won’t give her a bit of love.

*

“What would you think if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me?” Rachel sings, smiling at the way Sam harmonizes with her as he strums his guitar.

“Lend me your ears, and I’ll send you a song, and I’ll try not to sing out of key,” Artie picks up, and she lifts her voice to add an interesting counterpoint to his vocals, completely on key, of course.

Santana leans against Rachel’s shoulder, smiling widely, and sings, “Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.”

Rachel lets her take the next lines, too, and Sam and Dani the verse after that, feeling generous and happy with her friends around her and music filling the room. It’s so much of what she always dreamed her New York life would be. One of the very best things about living with these people is the amount of singing they get to do together; it completely outweighs all of the bickering over every single other thing they do. This, right here, is what she wants to her life to be: a role on Broadway and talented friends.

“Would you believe in a love at first sight?” sings Blaine across the room, and he tugs Kurt away from where he’s putting together a plate of snacks to pull him into a graceful spin.

“Yes, I’m certain that it happens all the time,” Kurt sings back, catching the song and the steps with a surprised expression but without a stumble.

“What do you see when you turn out the light?” Blaine sings to him.

“I can’t tell you, but I know it’s mine,” they sing together, Kurt’s smile going wry and flirty in a way Rachel knows all too well from nights like this one when they’ve cracked open a bottle or two of wine. His eyes sparkle. His mouth twists with promised mischief. His body flows with Blaine’s so easily, like they’re two halves of the same whole, two people happiest when they’re exactly in sync.

They’re both excellent dancers, and this time it’s Blaine who leads Kurt around the kitchen in a neat series of steps, one hand in Kurt’s and the other sure and easy on his back. Their eyes never leave each other’s faces.

The sight pulls at something deep and ever-tender inside of her.

Finn was never a good dancer, but his hand was always so big and warm at the small of Rachel’s back. Even when he missed the steps, his smile was always genuine and generous. He might have stumbled over her toes now and then, but he always made her feel safe in the circle of his arms. He made her feel the same kind of warm spark of promise deep in her chest that is illuminating Kurt’s eyes right now.

Blaine’s grin grows wider, and he pulls Kurt in closer as Sam and Artie pick up the next verse.

Rachel tucks her feet under herself and just watches. She has other dance partners now: Blaine, Kurt, Sam, even Elliott sometimes. They’re all kind to her and far more skilled than Finn ever was.

But they aren’t the same.

They love her in their own ways, and they give her so very much, but they aren’t the same at all.

*

“Rachel?” Blaine asks, knocking softly on the partition to her bedroom. “Do you have a minute?”

She looks up from her reading and puts the magazine down beside her on the bed; she can catch up on the new way to do a smokey eye later. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” He takes a small step into the room, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I was thinking about doing something for Kurt.”

“Like what?” she asks, her interest piqued.

Blaine gets this gleam in his eye and looks over his shoulder, though they’re alone in the loft as far as she knows. “Something special,” he says, stepping forward again, all eagerness and excitement. “He’s been having such a tough month, and I want to give him a great night to take his mind off of it. No, not just a great night but a _perfect_ night. Something incredible. But I’ll need your help.”

Rachel can feel herself freeze for a moment, stopped by the idea. Her heart clenches in her chest, sharp with longing, just for a second.

But it’s only for that second. She loves Blaine. She loves Kurt. She loves secrets and special plans.

She misses being the object of them, yes, and that’s what makes her pause... but, gosh, Kurt’s going to be so _happy_.

Rachel tucks her feet up under herself and asks with a smile, “What can I do?”

*

“Hmm,” Kurt says, holding up a blue tie against the purple dress shirt he’s wearing. He lowers his hand and lifts up the patterned grey tie in the other one. He frowns at himself in the mirror. “Hmm. They both work, but I can’t decide which one says ‘special night out on the town with my fiancé’ better.”

Sitting on his bed, Rachel pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Watching his giddy, slightly nervous excitement is almost as fun as it being her own. “Have you figured out where you’re going?”

“No.” Kurt meets her eyes in the mirror, his face lighting up with anticipation and maybe a little bit of annoyance that he’s been outsmarted. “He won’t tell me _anything_. And I think he’s been leaving around red herrings. Notes, receipts...”

Rachel fights back her grin; the fake notes were her idea. “He’s really going all out.”

Kurt’s expression melts, making him look even younger despite being so perfectly handsome in that beautiful suit. It reminds Rachel of what he looked like when Blaine had first fallen for him, when life was all so amazing he could barely contain himself. It reminds her of what he looked like when Blaine had proposed.

Kurt gives her that soft smile for a long moment, then pulls himself together and switches ties again. “He is. When Blaine gets an idea in his head, he never does it halfway. That’s why I need to look my absolute best. I need to do my part.”

Rachel squeezes her legs, holding in her happiness for him as well as her unwelcome twinge of melancholy, and says, “Aren’t you going to ask my opinion?”

“Please,” Kurt says with a laugh, discarding the blue tie onto the bed. “I love you, you’re beautiful, but you’re still one makeover past animal sweaters and knee socks.”

Torn between the delight of being called beautiful and the sting of her much improved - thank you very much - fashion sense being called into question, Rachel doesn’t say anything as Kurt quickly loops the tie around his throat and knots it neatly. He shrugs into his jacket and after an approving glance in the mirror turns for her response.

“You look wonderful,” she says and climbs off the bed to smooth down his lapels, not that he needs it, but it’s her right as his roommate. The material is rich beneath her hands, perfectly tailored like always.

“Thank you,” he replies.

“I’m ready when you are,” Blaine calls from beyond the curtain.

“Coming!” Kurt calls back. He turns to her again and says, low and nervous, like he’s worried Blaine will actually care about anything but him being there, “Have I forgotten anything?”

Rachel smiles at him, pats his cheek, and says, “You’re perfect.”

If Rachel thinks that Kurt looks radiant in his suit just by himself, she is bowled over when they slide back the curtain and he and Blaine get the chance to see each other all dressed up for the first time that night. They’ve spent the day together, and they dress so well everyday as it is, but they still both just _sparkle_ when they lay eyes on each other, like it’s the first time they’ve seen each other in weeks. They both light up as bright as the sun.

Blaine takes a step closer, wearing a sweater Rachel would swear she’s never seen before with a bow tie that is somehow a perfect complement to the color of Kurt’s jacket, and breathes, “You look incredible.”

Kurt’s smile is almost painful to look at when he says, “You do, too.”

Blaine just smiles back, though, and reaches for his hand, and Rachel realizes it’s only painful for her.

So much happiness right in front of her is wonderful but overwhelming. It lodges right beneath her rib cage, pressing against her lungs.

“You two have a good night,” she says, taking a step back toward her bedroom, and neither of them even looks her way when they thank her.

She can’t blame them, not even a little. She remembers how incredible it feels to be so wrapped up in someone that there’s no one else in the world.

*

Rachel comes into the loft after a long shift at the diner to find Kurt in the kitchen chopping vegetables.

“What are you making?” she asks as she slips out of her coat. She’s hungry and tired, and she’d be more than happy to eat some of whatever he’s having for dinner if he can make it without meat for her.

“Soup,” he replies curtly, his knife sliding in short, hard strokes through the onion on the cutting board.

Rachel takes in the surly set of his jaw, the tightness of his shoulders, and the clouds of unhappiness rolling off him. She knows those signs very well. Putting aside her hunger for the moment, she slides out a chair at the table so that she can sink down onto it and finally be off of her sore feet. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think something is wrong?” He scoops the onion into a bowl and starts in on the carrots in an almost violent chopping motion.

“Well...” She gestures at the cutting board, careful to keep her hand well out of the range of his knife. “It’s either that or the vegetables said something very rude about your ability to hit a high F.”

Kurt’s breath huffs out of his nose, and he rearranges the carrots in front of him and goes back to chopping them with a bit less gusto. “It’s Blaine,” he says. “He - You know, I don’t even want to talk about it.”

“But something happened,” Rachel says. It isn’t a question; the answer is obvious.

“Yes.” Kurt finished up the carrots and reaches for the celery.

“And you don’t want to tell me about it?”

“No.” He punctuates the word by viciously beheading the leaves from the celery stalks.

“Okay,” she says slowly. She leans back in her chair. If he doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want to talk. She won’t push him. He and Blaine don’t yell when they fight, after all, so they won’t disturb her later. “You would _not_ believe the customer I had - “

“It doesn’t even matter what he did,” Kurt says over her, cutting her off as neatly as he bisects the celery. “It doesn’t _matter_ , because he walked out. He said he needed some air. That was _three hours_ ago.” He gestures around them with the knife. “How much air could he possibly need? Especially in New York, when the air is half-car exhaust, anyway.”

“Maybe he got lost?” Rachel suggests. It wouldn’t be the first time. Blaine has done beautifully with public transportation, apart from making too many friends with strange people he then has to find a way to convince they shouldn’t follow him home, but he’s still something of a disaster when it comes to the streets.

“He has his phone,” Kurt says. “He can look at a map or take a cab.” He starts slicing through the stalks. “And he wouldn’t have gotten lost at all if he hadn’t just _left_.”

Rachel is used to the way tempers flare in the loft by now. The space is small, and they all have a lot of opinions and needs. They are all passionate people. People are always getting their noses bent out of joint.

She, Santana, and Kurt are all quick to air their annoyances; they erupt quickly and resolve their issues cleanly after the explosion of feelings. Blaine’s different. He’s quieter. He tries to be flexible. He tries to be kind. So he tends to hold things in until he simply _can’t_ anymore, like how he was offended by Santana always using his towels and leaving them wet and cold when it was his time to shower or how he somehow took exception to the way Rachel always rearranges the refrigerator so that her things are easily accessible in the front even though it makes complete sense because then there is no way her soy milk could ever touch anything meat-related.

And sometimes, when he’s really, really upset, he leaves the loft altogether, his shoulders hunched and his head low, just needing to escape it all.

When he goes, Rachel’s learned it makes Kurt even more wound up than he gets fighting Santana at her most wild; it makes him furious and frantic at being abandoned and helpless in the face of everything being up in the air with no way to fix it.

“He’ll come back,” Rachel tells Kurt; she knows it’s what he needs to hear, and she also knows it’s true. Blaine _loves_ Kurt. He thinks the sun rises and sets in Kurt’s eyes. He cares about him so deeply. There’s no question that he’ll return. “He always does.”

“I know.” He sets down the knife and stares at it for a long moment, his hands pressed to the table. “I know. And he’ll apologize, and I’m sure I will, too, although I’m _not_ wrong about this. We’ll figure it out.” His fingers curl against the table’s surface, and he pushes himself away to bring over the soup pot and dump all of the vegetables in it. When he speaks again, his voice is low and just a touch uncertain, some of the anger replaced by concern. “He just has to come back.”

“He will, Kurt,” she says.

Kurt nods. He sets the pot on the stove, but instead of turning on the heat he faces her again, his eyes hard and hurt. “It would be so much better if he didn’t go at all.”

Rachel takes a deep breath in sympathy for the way the words scrape out of him. She doesn’t miss the way fighting with someone she loves can make her heart feel like it’s being ripped from her chest. She doesn’t miss how deeply it cuts to watch someone she loves walk away from her, his back stiff and angry, shutting her out. She doesn’t miss feeling like she’s being pulled to pieces with every harsh word or pointed silence.

She misses the love and passion, but she remembers all too well from the scene in front of her that it’s a double-edged sword. Love hurts. Fighting is _gutting_. Knowing she’s not on the same page with the person who should understand her the best is one of the most horrible feelings in the world. It doesn’t matter how much fuel fighting gives to her singing, it is still awful.

Even so, looking at Kurt and the way his heart is still so full and alive with Blaine - even right now, even when he’s so upset - Rachel is certain she’d take all the bad if she had the chance to have the good again.

She can’t help but think of Finn and the way he used to smile at her, like she was his whole universe, and it hurts so much she can barely even breathe. She misses that so much. It doesn’t matter that they’d already chosen to be apart; she misses knowing that she might be able to have it again. She misses the potential. She misses _him_ , even though sometimes it was so hard to be in love with him.

But she can’t have him. He’s gone. He’s _gone_. She can’t have any of that with him again.

She folds her hands in her lap, curls a little over the terrible tightness in her stomach, and focuses instead on her friend in front of her, who is alive and hurting. She can’t do anything about Finn, no matter what she would give up to bring him back if she could, but she can help Kurt.

And what he needs is to be distracted until Blaine gets back and they can fix everything.

“Do you want me to help you with the soup while you wait?” she offers.

Kurt raises his eyebrows at her, looking at her with suspicion. “You mean do I want you to sit there and watch me make soup for you for dinner while I stew silently to myself about the ridiculous man I’m going to marry?” he asks.

“If you want; I wouldn’t want to get in your way,” she says brightly.

He sighs and rolls his eyes, but something in the way he’s carrying his shoulders seems lighter as he turns back around to continue cooking.

She smiles smugly at his back. She knows he won’t feel completely better until Blaine is home and they make up again, she knows he’ll feel hollow and upset until then, but at least she did her part.

And she’ll get dinner out of it.

*

Rachel hums to herself as she walks down the street toward her building, twirling the stem of the single yellow daisy she’s carrying between her fingertips. A living statue had offered it to her by the subway exit, and she has never been one to refuse a flower... or to appreciate an artist doing good work, even if Rachel thinks the statue in the park is a little more moving.

Her steps are light on the pavement, and her heart feels even lighter in her chest. It’s been a good day. The producers’ notes were supportive about the songs they’ve been workshopping, she had a productive rehearsal this afternoon, and she got an extremely generous tip from a table of older gentlemen at the diner because she made sure their complex requests for substitutions were all carried out properly.

She even got to sit the whole way on the subway on the trip home. If that isn’t a sign from the universe that she’s doing things right, she doesn’t know what is.

She rounds the corner onto her street and catches sight of a familiar pair of heads a few stores away. It’s Kurt and Blaine walking slowly, chatting as they look in shop windows. They’re both dressed up, Kurt in a pair of dress pants so gorgeous she wonders if he borrowed them from Vogue.com and Blaine in a vibrant blazer and bow tie that he somehow makes look elegant even in the middle of the dingy street.

That’s right, she remembers. It’s date night for them.

They aren’t holding hands. They aren’t even walking all that closely together. Still, even if she hadn’t known them she would have known that they’re together. They’re so in tune with each other, so focused on each other. The way they move together from window to window is as though they’re drawn together like magnets, their nature to get close again when they’re too far apart.

It’s strange, Rachel thinks, slowing down so she doesn’t catch up with them. She lives with them. She’s been watching them grow together - and apart, and back together - for years now. She knows so much about them, from the faces they make while brushing their teeth to the little songs they sing to each other when they think they’re alone in the apartment.

She knows they’re a couple. She _knows_ they’re in love. She knows _them_.

And yet there they are, these two men on a busy New York sidewalk, and even if she knew none of that she’d be able to see how very together they are.

Kurt laughs at something Blaine says, the affection in his eyes bright enough to light up the whole sidewalk, and Blaine grins back, just as happy. It’s like to them there’s nothing else important in the world.

Her steps growing that much slower, Rachel twirls her flower again and turns into the bodega she’s passing. She knows that they’d greet her happily enough if she joined them; Kurt would admire her new dress, and Blaine would offer her his arm to walk her home. She knows she wouldn’t be interrupting.

She just doesn’t want to.

She doesn’t have what they have, not anymore. Not right now, possibly never again. She remembers how magical it is to be so connected with someone, but she isn’t.

If it were only one of them walking along the street, she’d have rushed ahead to catch up, but they’re together, wrapped up in each other. They’re in love. They deserve to enjoy it for a few minutes more before they have to share themselves again.

So she’ll take her time and give them space. She’ll give herself space, too, space not to have to think about what it feels like to be that completely in love.

She’ll enjoy her flower and the beautiful night, instead... and maybe a pint of ice cream, she thinks as she heads toward the freezer section, because Kurt is too busy with Blaine tonight to try to steal some of it from her.

*

The apartment is quiet when she wakes, and Rachel takes her time getting out of bed. She stretches her legs and curls her toes, flings her arms out to the sides of the mattress, and just breathes, reveling in the silence.

She loves her friends, but there’s something wonderful about being in the loft by herself. She can do whatever she wants. She doesn’t have to think of anyone else. She can pretend she’s older, more settled, awards on her mantel and fans at her door, living her own life with friends nearby but not on top of each other quite the same way as they are now. She can shower as long as she wants without anyone pounding on the door, not wash her dishes immediately without Kurt giving her the evil eye, and sing to her heart’s content.

And she can have her first cup of coffee without having to brave Santana’s wrath for said singing.

Rachel is already humming as she gets out of bed, and she pulls open her curtain and rounds the corner to the kitchen with a bounce in her step that turns into a startled jump into the air when she finds that she’s not alone, after all.

Kurt and Blaine are both there, awake and at the table. Blaine’s reading a book, and Kurt’s staring dreamily off into space over his coffee. They’re both sleep-mussed and scruffy in a way she could barely have imagined in high school, their bare ankles brushing against each other under the table.

It’s so easy. It’s so intimate. It’s like it’s _their_ future, not hers, she realizes, just the two of them in _their_ own apartment, a lazy morning so sweet they don’t have to speak, and she feels suddenly like the intruder into _their_ dream.

The moment is so sweet, but instead of making her happy it gnaws deep and sharp in her chest.

Blaine looks up and smiles at her, folding his hands over his book. “Good morning, Rachel,” he says in a rough, barely used voice. “There’s coffee.”

Kurt blinks and smiles his hello, taking a sip from his own mug.

“Thank you,” she says, and she pours it quickly and escapes back into her room before they can invite her to stay.

It’s not that she doesn’t like their dream. It’s not even that she minds disturbing them, really, or sharing it with them.

It’s just too early in the day to have to think about how it’s not _fair_ that they’re getting it now and she isn’t. She wants them to have their happiness, but it’s not fair that they get to share it at all together when somehow her dreams of the future only contain solitude and silence.

She sits down on her bed, her brow furrowed at herself. She needs new dreams. Better ones.

*

Rachel comes into the loft in the late afternoon, excited but exhausted after a long day of dance rehearsals, and is a little surprised to find Kurt at the kitchen table, ingredients spread out around him. He’s mixing something in a big bowl, but instead of the usual way he cooks, humming and light on his feet, his expression is serious and reflective.

“What’s going on?” she asks, coming over toward him. “It’s Santana’s night to cook, isn’t it?”

“I’m baking a cake,” he replies. He lifts his whisk and frowns down at the batter, then goes back to stirring.

“What’s the occasion? Did Sam get a new booking?”

“No.” Kurt stirs for a few seconds more before looking up at her. “I’ve been missing Finn this week,” he says, the name landing like a soft arrow in her heart. “I had this dream - “ He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It was just a dream. But I’ve been thinking of him. I can’t shake myself out of it.” Biting his lip, he shrugs his shoulder and goes back to stirring. “So I’m baking his favorite cake.”

Rachel looks down at the ingredients again and smiles, sad but oddly grateful at the same time. “Lemon-raspberry,” she says.

Kurt nods, smiling a little back at her, looking like he feels just as bittersweet about it as she does. “He always said it tasted like summer.”

“Yeah, he did.” Rachel’s chest feels tight as she takes a breath, loving the memory but hating the pain in it. Yet she’s glad that she’s not the only one who remembers. She’s glad that she’s not the only one who hurts. She’s glad that other people are there, remembering Finn and missing him just as actively and sometimes unexpectedly as she does.

She sets down her bag out of the way, knowing Kurt doesn’t need her help but knowing he won’t turn her away. It’s better to do this together than alone. “What should I do?”

Kurt’s eyes go liquid for a moment with something that looks like gratitude, and then he blinks back his emotion and says, “First you need to wash your hands. Then you can wash the raspberries.”

“Okay,” she says, just as grateful for him that they can share this task together.

Over the next few hours, the rest of their friends come in and join them one by one, abandoning whatever plans they might have had when they hear what Rachel and Kurt are working on in the kitchen.

Sam grates the fresh coconut and gets down the cooling racks for the layers when they come out of the oven. Blaine tends the raspberry reduction with more attention than it really needs, his eyes fixed on it as he stirs the mixture with Kurt’s favorite wooden spoon. Santana helps Kurt ice the layers, wielding the spatula with a precision Rachel didn’t know Santana had in her. Artie helps Rachel place the fresh berries around the top and press the coconut to the sides, and together she and Kurt set the cake in the middle of the table, a temporary centerpiece as they all eat a simple dinner together.

They laugh and chat over the meal, talking about their days the way they usually do, but after the dishes are cleared they all grow more somber again, hovering around the table with quiet, slightly awkward expectation.

“Cake?” Kurt finally asks, brushing off his hands on the towel by the sink, and Rachel looks around at the faces of their friends, people who love Finn in their own ways, and nods around the lump in her throat.

“Cake,” she agrees.

Usually after dinner they drift over to the couch or back out into the night, but tonight they all sit back down again at the table. Kurt cuts the cake into neat pieces and passes them to Blaine at his right, who serves them silently. It feels more like a solemn ritual than dessert. It feels, Rachel thinks, a little like a memorial.

“Well,” Kurt breathes as he takes his seat when he’s done, a piece of cake on a plate in front of him. “Enjoy.”

They take their first bite in silence, and the taste of the cake bursts in all of its fruity-sweet glory on Rachel’s tongue. She remembers it so well, remembers kisses that tasted just like it. The bite doesn’t choke her or stick in her throat, but it still hurts a little to have it sit on her tongue. It’s a good hurt, though, just like the mix of fruits is a little overwhelming but still right.

“It’s just how he liked it,” she tells Kurt after she swallows, her heart aching but full, and his smile in reply is watery but genuine.

“Including the extra coconut he insisted made it that much better,” he replies.

“And twice the raspberry jam,” Blaine says quietly.

Artie pokes at his piece with his fork and then says with a strangled laugh, “Damn, Finn had weird taste in cakes.”

There’s a second where everyone freezes, but then Sam and Santana join in Artie’s laughter, Kurt following with a ducked head and a grin, and Rachel feels her own laughter fluttering up through her, so similar to tears but not quite.

It’s easier after that to trade stories about him, little memories of the choir room or the Hummel-Hudson dinner table. Sam talks about Finn sticking up for new kids in the locker room. Blaine talks about playing video games with him while waiting for Kurt to get dressed for dates. Artie tells a story about Finn trying to learn to skateboard.

It’s all hard to hear, but if Rachel’s heart has to ache at Finn’s loss, then it’s also soothed by the fact that other people are missing him, too. She’s wiping away a few tears by the time their slices of cake are gone - Sam finishing up Artie’s for him - but it’s worth it.

She’s never going to be over Finn. She knows that. She’s going to miss him forever. She’s going to miss his kindness and his heart, the gentleness of his touch, the warmth of his smile, and the intensity of his love. She misses his struggles to be better. She misses his voice. She misses everything about him, including just the _potential_ of him, because it had been right for them to be apart, but it’s wrong for them _never_ to be able to be together again.

There’s so much about him to miss, she thinks as she listens to her friends tell stories about him. So much for all of them, but especially for her, and she can tell as Sam’s face becomes less cloudy and Artie drifts off to check something on his phone that the burden just isn’t as heavy for them. She’s not surprised. They loved Finn but weren’t in love with them. He was their friend, their leader.

Finn wasn’t just her former boyfriend and duet partner; he was _hers_.

Hers, she thinks sadly; he was supposed to be hers.

Blaine begins to gather the dishes as she sits there, her stomach knotting, and brings them over to the sink where Kurt is rinsing out the pasta pot. As he approaches, Blaine offers him a tender look, his eyes soft and concerned, and Kurt’s reply is a crumpled, sad attempt at a smile.

Finn was Kurt’s, too, she makes herself remember. Not his soul mate but his brother, his _family_ , and it makes things infinitessimally easier for Rachel to know that there’s someone in such a similar position, someone else whose life will always have a Finn-shaped hole, a hole that can be worked around, its rough edges smoothed, but never be filled. No one else can ever take his place for either of them, no matter how much time might pass.

She wouldn’t wish this sadness on anyone else, especially not her best friend, but it helps to know she’s not alone in her grief. It helps that someone else understands.

Blaine puts down the plates beside the sink, and instead of coming back to the table for more he slips his arm around Kurt’s waist and rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt relaxes into him, still washing the pot, pressing his cheek against Blaine’s hair.

No, Rachel realizes, she _is_ alone. She doesn’t have Kurt with her, because _Kurt_ isn’t alone. Kurt has Blaine. Kurt has his soul mate and first, best love. Kurt may be hurting just as much as she is, but _he_ isn’t alone.

He has _Blaine_ , and oh how he has him. She sees them together day in and day out. They’re happy. They’re in tune with each other. They’re building one life together, step by step.

As she tries to keep back the tears the evening has brought up, thoughts she doesn’t usually have unless they’re being put in front of her face and over and over again, Kurt’s being _comforted_. Kurt’s being loved, and she isn’t.

She may never be again.

Kurt kisses the top of Blaine’s head, so sweetly, and Rachel scrapes back her chair and flees with a choked sob for her room.

“Rachel?” Santana calls after her, but Rachel doesn’t stop, just yanks her curtain closed and collapses onto her bed, squeezing her eyes tight in a fruitless attempt to keep her feelings inside.

She’s not going to let Finn’s death stop her. She’s not going to let it rob her of happiness in her life. It just hurts so _much_ sometimes.

She can do this. Sometimes she doesn’t know _how_ , but she can.

She curls on her side, one hand clinging to her pillow and the other resting over the spot where Finn’s name is inscribed on her skin, a pale shadow of how indelibly his name is written on her heart. She can do this. She just has to remember how to push it all away and keep going forward like she usually does.

“Rachel?” Kurt asks more quietly and much closer than Santana had been.

Rachel blinks open her eyes to find Kurt standing in her doorway, the parted curtains framing him with Blaine looking worriedly over his shoulder.

“Only one of you, not both,” she says, her breath hitching, and she can barely stand to see the silent look they give each other before Kurt slips inside on his own, the curtains falling shut behind him.

“Rachel,” he says, coming to sit on the bed beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should have thought before I baked that cake.”

“It’s not the cake,” she tells him, wiping at her streaming eyes.

Kurt nods, his lips pressed together in sympathy, and he pets her arm. “I’m still sorry. I know it’s hard. I miss Finn, too.”

“I know you do,” she says. “I know.” But the hand that’s resting beside her on the bed has a shining ring on it, Blaine’s ring, their promise of _forever_ , and it just makes Rachel hurt that much more, because her forever with Finn is just _gone_.

“You should go,” she says unsteadily, fresh tears welling up at the unfairness of the world. “I’ll be fine. Go be with Blaine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kurt tells her and just keeps petting her, the same kind, comforting rock of a friend he was after Finn died and they were both so shaken they couldn’t do anything but cling to each other. She doesn’t know how she would have gotten through any of it without him.

She sniffles and curls her hand around his, grateful for the warmth and strength he’s offering. “I love you,” she tells him through shuddering breaths.

He strokes her hair off of her face and says, “I love you, too, Rachel Berry.”

“And I’m really happy for you,” she says. She can feel his ring under her palm, smooth against her skin. “I love you both, you and Blaine, and I want you to be happy so _much_. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, maybe a little confused but still giving her the space to talk.

“Blaine’s your person,” she croaks out as her stomach cramps at the thought. “I’m so happy for you, Kurt.”

“Rachel...”

She shakes her head, the world blurry through her tears. “He’s your person, and you have each other.”

“You have us, too, Rachel,” he tells her gently. “We’re here for you, too.”

“It’s not the same,” she says. “You’re... you’re Kurt-and-Blaine, and I want you to be. I know how special that is. I had it, too, and I don’t anymore. Finn was _my_ person. I was supposed to have him, too. _Someday_. I was supposed to have him someday.”

“I know,” Kurt says, his fingers comforting in her hair before he scoots down so that he can pull her into a hug. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I was supposed to have him someday,” Rachel cries against his shoulder - the one that isn’t as broad as Finn’s, the one she has to give up to Blaine - and curls her hands into his sweater. “You have your happy ending. He was supposed to be mine.”

“I know,” he says one last time and lets her cry, lets her get her feelings out in the safety of his arms, lets her weep, cling, and sniffle until she’s emptied out and closer to her usual peace.

It takes a long time. She’s always been a person who feels everything deeply, and about Finn she’s felt the most of all. She could cry forever and never sweep away all he has meant in her life.

But she doesn’t _need_ to cry forever. That’s the thing. She just needs to cry enough that she’s back on her feet again. She can walk tall if she’s on her feet. She can keep her head high against all of the unexpected reminders of what she’s lost as long as the ground is steady beneath her.

“Thank you,” she whispers finally, pushing herself up onto her elbow and brushing her hair off of her damp face. Her nose is all stuffy, her eyes swollen, but she feels so much better.

Kurt’s eyes are shining with his own tears, but his smile is full of understanding. “Any time,” he promises.

To her surprise, she finds herself smiling back at him; it’s not a lot, but she means it. “I really do love you,” she tells him, and she realizes that the fact that she’ll never be his sister-in-law doesn’t change the truth. “You’re my family, Kurt.”

His face crumples a little with emotion, and he says, “You’re mine, too.” He sits up as his eyes take on a distinct twinkle. “Heaven help us both.”

She smacks his shoulder with a laugh, then leans against him, breathing deeply for the first time in what feels like hours. She can hear the murmur of voices elsewhere in the loft: Blaine low and gentle, Santana laughing, Sam humming some tune she can’t quite figure out. She wonders if it’s supposed to feel hard to face them again, but it doesn’t. She knows they love her, too. She knows _Blaine_ loves her, even if he’s going to be at Kurt’s side for most of the night, giving him so much of what she wishes she had.

If watching her friends - her family - be in love brings up memories she’d rather not think about, she still wants it for them.

It’s okay. She’ll be okay.

“You know what we need?” Kurt says, straightening his sleeves.

She wipes at her eyes and turns to him with curiosity. “What?”

“More cake,” he says. “Cake makes everything better.”

Rachel considers the idea. Normally she’d be jumping for more of Kurt’s baked goods, but - “I don’t even like that flavor cake that much,” she says.

“Neither do I,” Kurt admits, and they look at each other for a long moment before they start to laugh. The things they’ve apparently both done for Finn, because they wanted to make him happy.

There’s that twisting pull in her stomach again when she thinks of him, tugging on that wound she knows will never fully heal. But she can’t fix that. All she can do is live with it.

She takes another deep breath and reaches for Kurt’s hand.

“Okay,” she says with a heart that’s light enough to make it through the rest of the night. She pulls him up off the bed and out toward the rest of the loft with the cake, their friends, and so much of what she holds dear. “One more piece.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: I am spoiler-free! Please do not spoil me!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Love is More than Just a Game for Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536925) by [luvtheheaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvtheheaven/pseuds/luvtheheaven)




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